Текст книги "Hemlock Veils"
Автор книги: Jennie Davenport
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
Chapter 18
It seemed the time in his gardens, surrounded by roses and infatuated heat, had been a turning point for Henry. Or perhaps it had been the morning after, the morning Elizabeth had questioned him about his foundation. Whatever it was, Henry—the man—had changed that day, three weeks ago. No longer did he show the slightest hint of an interest, nor the smiles Elizabeth loved. They saw each other plenty, since he came with her to Jean’s every morning. It had even become a morning ritual to walk together, rain or shine. He would sit and talk with her while she prepared the pastries and coffee, before the doors were open for business, or sometimes nothing would be said at all; but always they would come together. One time, when business had slowed and she was no longer bustling behind the counter, he’d even invited her to his corner table to have coffee with him.
But regardless of the way days had lapsed in walks and conversations over coffee, he wasn’t the same Henry she’d begun to see that day in his gardens, or even the evening he’d fixed her pipe. That man, who she’d thought possibly felt the same things she did, had disappeared, and Henry was back to being Mr. Clayton: clipped, short, professional, and not caring more for her than a man cares for his business associate. As though it was his obligation to walk with her every morning. Every once in a while, he’d even become condescending the way he’d been in the beginning.
It was strange, their relationship—outside of a definition. Whatever they were, a large bit of something was missing. Three weeks ago, she had begun to see a side of him that said she was more than a morning walk and a cup of coffee. But, like a switch, he’d flipped off that side, even the fire that had burned from within and showed through his eyes. He revealed no personal information either, other than a tidbit he’d slipped out on the morning she’d sat with him. It usually consisted of small talk, except for the times she would tell stories about her father or brother, or even Mr. Vanderzee. She didn’t mind doing this, sharing herself with him, and she was glad he didn’t seem to mind either. He always listened with respect, even appeared interested more times than not.
However, on that morning she’d sat with him, all she’d gotten from him was that Henry Street had been named after his father, because he’d been born in that very clinic on the corner. And even that wasn’t true, she knew, since Henry Senior never existed. Junior and Senior were one in the same; the careless father Henry spoke of was none other than Joseph Clayton, and the wonderful friend Arne spoke of was the very same Henry she now knew, from a past life. None of it made sense and she wanted it to. She wanted to know why the man before her felt nothing like the beast she knew at night.
Because in Henry, the beast, lay a different story. With the beast she was home, and so was he. At night she knew the real Henry, the one who waited eagerly for her. After sunset he always came, and not a day had gone by during the past three weeks that she didn’t go with him. He even provided an excellent shield on the nights it rained. Instead of walking side-by-side on those nights, they walked as one. With her body huddled against his massive frame, she took shelter between his ribs and shoulder—he on four legs and she on two.
It wasn’t that the beast told her much. Even now, as she walked with him, he rarely spoke. But they didn’t need it. All they needed was the connection of their eyes and the way their souls were in sync. Out here, in the dark, no two beings were more similar. In the real world with sunshine, Henry went out of his way to prove they were different. Sometimes she didn’t know whom to believe. Sometimes she even questioned whether Henry was the beast at all.
Tonight it rained again, just drizzled really, and as she took her place in the indentation between his shoulder and ribs, her mind continued to drift. She’d been officially living in Hemlock Veils for a month now. How quickly it had gone by. How fulfilling yet equally empty—and not to mention strange—her life was. She was tired most of the time, even the mornings after she fell asleep against him. Sometimes they would stop on the flat surface of a boulder close to a water source (she could hear it gushing) and drift. Darkness always concealed the places he took her, and she hoped someday to see them in daylight—especially the waterfall.
They’d stopped there more than a handful of times, where he would lie down, resting his jaw on his paws, and she would lie back against his side—a few times against his chest and below his head, on the nights it poured. The second time this happened, she had asked him where he usually slept, and with the thoughts that floated into her head, he had said it was right there, where they were. There was something trusting in the way he brought her to his sleeping place, something that said everything.
Drizzling transitioned to rain, and she lifted her hood over her head, inching closer to the beast. She had learned the paths they walked, and though she couldn’t see them, sometimes clinging to his fur as he led her, she knew the turns they would take, the obstacles they had to avoid. And right now they were roughly a mile northwest of Hemlock, in a particularly hilly terrain she assumed was close to Hunchback Mountain. In knowing Mt. Hood Highway was just north of them, she was reminded of the night they’d met, the first time he’d tried frightening her.
You’re tired, he said in her mind, his words shoving aside her own thoughts.
“Tonight is no different than any other.”
I’ll take you back.
“No.” He worried for her more than anyone ever had—always making sure she had enough rest, always protecting her from weather, and even protecting her from wildlife. Generally, they all kept away from him, but a few times the animals had been taken by surprise and acted on their instincts. In turn, he had too.
The first and only time she’d seen him attack, tearing his jaws through a black bear’s side, she’d been so horrified that she’d left him earlier than usual, needing a night to process the bloody image. The next night when meeting him at her porch, he had said, Sometimes I can’t ignore my instincts, Elizabeth. I told you I was vicious. I warned you.
She’d grasped the fur beneath his ear and pulled his face toward her, sliding her other hand the length of his snout. In his animal eyes the shame was unmistakable. “You’re not vicious,” she said softly. “If you were, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” She ran her thumb down the length of his long fang, from gum to tip—moist but free of blood. “Your instincts are part of you, Beast.” His breath left him in a puff and she smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “I have the best bodyguard in existence.”
Though she had accepted this side of him, she was grateful he never attacked another animal in front of her again. She’d learned by now that it was difficult for him to exercise control. Even the rare presence of mule deer set him on edge, his spine rippling with that instinct he tried to fight. One time, she’d laughed at the way he’d scared off a defenseless rabbit.
But it’d been a week since they’d come across other wildlife, and she was contemplating this when they reached a clearing, and he sat on his haunches. She took the place she usually reserved for rainstorms: against his chest, beneath his head. The rain wasn’t threatening tonight, but she was tired. Though she wouldn’t admit it to him—because he would drag her home by his teeth—she did need to close her eyes. It was sometime in the middle of the night and staying out late was a mistake; but she needed this, needed these moments with the only soul who seemed to understand her. She rested the side of her face against the wet fur of his chest and closed her eyes. And even while standing on her feet, her mind slipped into a sleepy state. He lowered his long jaw and rested it on her head—always protecting.
As usual, while her mind drifted, Henry floated in and out of it. The man, Henry. The way he made her feel on their morning walks to Jean’s, even when he was his distant, professional self. The truth was, she hadn’t felt for anyone the way she felt for him, not ever. She cared so deeply about the man he was hiding, the man she got glimpses of on nights like tonight.
“Beast…” she said, her voice tired and eyes closed. His rapid heartbeat didn’t sound human. “Why do you come to me every night?”
The rain in the treetops was a pleasing sound. Because you accept me. I don’t have to pretend. She moved away from his chest, meeting his large animal eyes, rich with the same hue as his human ones. With you I’m not alone.
She stroked his wet fur and he lowered his face. Just barely, his moist nose nuzzled hers: his sign of affection, she’d realized last week. “I wish you never had to be alone.”
I deserve the life I live, Elizabeth. What I don’t deserve is you treating me so…human.
“But you are, aren’t you?”
Before she even realized it was gone, his face jerked away from her hand. She thought for an instant that maybe her question had upset him, but he sniffed the air and took a protective stance over her. She didn’t feel that unsettling doom in her chest—the doom she had felt before when the mysterious evil lurked somewhere close. They had sensed it while together twice during the past few weeks, and the second time it had been so close the sensation left her chest heavy and her airways tight; but he’d hoisted her onto his back and run far away. With her body hugged to his spine, her fingers grasping his fur tightly and her face buried in his neck, he ran until neither of them felt it anymore and it was safe to return her home. The next two nights, he wouldn’t take her far from her porch, staying in the forest around both their homes, but eventually, after enough persuasion on her part, they’d gotten back into the routine of nighttime walks. He hadn’t explained what the evil was, though she had her own guesses; but thankfully it hadn’t returned since last week.
And now was no different. This, whatever he sensed, wasn’t the same evil. Another bear? A deer perhaps?
A click, heavy and metal sounding—one only a loading shotgun could make. Eustace spied them from somewhere close, with his gun he’d once referred to as Betsy, and her sights were probably on the beast. The beast twisted, blocking Elizabeth as though Eustace would try shooting her. His mass became backlit with Eustace’s spotlight.
She darted in front of the beast, raising her hands. “Don’t shoot! It’s me, don’t shoot.”
The blinding light lowered, hanging around his neck. It emphasized the shock on his face. “Eustace, please…” She stepped toward him, hands still raised. “Drop the gun.”
“What…?” He seemed to be confused, for the double barrel darted back and forth between her and the beast, who remained behind her.
Elizabeth, the beast reproached internally, and she ignored it.
“Eustace…”
“Step away from it, Beth,” Eustace said through his teeth.
“No. I’m with him. And you will not shoot him again.” She retreated, blocking the beast. “Eustace, please…” Her words broke as emotion rose in her throat. “I’m begging you. Please don’t shoot him.”
“It’s a monster!” he shouted, his voice too loud for the forest’s stillness. His gun trembled.
“He’s my friend.”
His eyes locked with hers, and all fell silent. All except the rain, that didn’t stop for anyone. “Please,” she said again, more softly.
With a rigid sigh, he dropped the gun. “This is…Shit, Beth, people aren’t going to think too highly on this.”
She released a breath and lowered her hands, then looked back at the beast. He sat on his haunches, no longer crouched, and his eyes that always said so much filled with something intense. “Go,” she said to him.
I’ll find you, he said, and then was gone.
She looked back to Eustace, whose his eyes nearly bulged from his face. “You…”
“Eustace, I know this is strange, but—”
“What if it hurts you?”
“He won’t. Not ever. You have to trust me.”
“Some might wonder if you’re just as evil as that thing, romping around with it at night.” His eyes accused. And her throat closed.
“Eustace,” she said, stepping closer. “This doesn’t change anything. Neither he nor I is evil. He has a good heart.”
“It’s always been evil, Beth. I’ve seen what it can do. And it sickens me that you—” He cut himself off, running a hand down his beard. No doubt thinking about Holly Farrell.
With hands clasped in desperation, she attempted to keep her voice even. “You said from the first night you knew me, you trusted me. That I had good judgment. Please trust me now, Eustace. I know what I’m doing and I’m not putting my life—and especially anyone else’s—in danger.” She paused, staring into his eyes. His softened. “Do you trust me?”
He looked down. In a small voice, he answered, “I…suppose I still do. But…”
“Then you need to believe me when I say I’m okay, and he would never do anything to really hurt anyone. Please…leave him alone.”
He shook his head, hardening his resolve. “Only tonight, Beth. This is the only time I’ll let it go. So you better be damn careful, because next time I will shoot. Take that as a warning.” He turned then said behind him, “And don’t worry; I still respect you enough to keep this between us. I don’t want to think what might become of you if people knew.”
It took a minute or two for total darkness to dominate the place he once stood. Behind her, the beast’s presence grew strong and comforting. I can’t see you anymore.
She scrunched her eyes to rid the words she’d already been anticipating from her mind. With teeth clamped to keep her emotions in check, she turned. “Don’t.”
You’re not safe with me.
“I’m safe only with you!”
He didn’t say anything; instead he lowered his head and began walking back the way they’d come, waiting for her to follow. She didn’t at first and he looked back at her, his tail whipping. It’s late, Elizabeth, and the morning comes early.
Her chest felt slightly lighter at his usual words, and she thought maybe this incident wouldn’t change things after all. But when he returned her to her porch twenty minutes later, the look in his eyes spoke a goodbye. I’m sorry, Elizabeth.
“No—”
I won’t let you be hated like me.
“I can handle it.”
It’s too dangerous if they know. We aren’t supposed to be friends. It’s not supposed to be that way. It never was.
“But…you’re all I have.” Her eyes burned and emotion knotted her throat.
I’m…still here. I’ll never be anywhere else.
“I’m not going to lose you because of them.”
You’re not. You’re losing me because of me. And before she could beg him to stay, in the same way she’d begged Eustace to spare his life, he left, the jerking branches of a hemlock the only evidence of his escape.
***
A dark satisfaction settled over Elizabeth’s house—a false sense of rightness in what had just happened. It tried but failed to settle upon her body as well. She sensed that it felt comfortable here with her, within her lightless walls. It told her this was meant to be, that she was never meant to be in the beast’s life. Standing motionless, she looked around her living room, unable to pinpoint any of the usual shadows. The room looked darker than it should have been.
In a hurry, she flipped on the switch, her lamp taking longer to flicker to life since it fought with the nighttime. But the room illuminated well after a moment, and she breathed a sigh of relief when that eerie satisfaction seemed to move farther away, irked by the change.
What entity was satisfied with the beast’s abandonment? Was it the same who’d stirred the wind upon her arrival, warning her not to stay? What could possibly want him to live in misery?
Having just a hint of an idea, she opened her big book of fairy tales, searching for the demon she wanted to blame. And her understanding began piecing together as she read, making that false sense of rightness—that dark satisfaction—dissipate.
Diableron: it was the official name the French had given the demonic beings in 1351, when the first legend of its kind was born. Thereafter, legends of Diablerons began springing up in every continent, the most recent story documented in 1891. Some thought the name stemmed from the terms diablotin and laideron—small devil and ugly girl—but however it was derived, the Diableron was a being beyond definition: a demon, a black destroyer. They were beings whose origin couldn’t be explained, there to instill fear in faithful hearts, to cause mischief, or to haunt men whose souls were damned. It had been her least favorite creature of folklore as a child, and her father would skip the section, since she hadn’t even been able to look at the illustration. She studied it now, for the first time: its slender body that looked more like a silhouette, with a long, spear-like tail that left an oily trail of blackness behind. It appeared more like a mist than a being itself, hovering over the ground. Despite the melting face of a demon, it could change its form into anything or anyone—whatever would be most haunting to its target.
Logic told her it was too incredible of a concept to believe, but then wasn’t an enchantress or a witch incredible, too? Wasn’t a man who transformed into a beast every night? That was when she saw the asterisk leading her to the bottom of the page: See also section 3. Section three, the one about the beautiful, man-hating enchantress: the Aglaé.
She flipped to it with a strange sense of urgency, wondering how they could be related, and read the footnotes at the end of the section, ones she’d always skipped over before:
Though the origin of Diablerons is not confirmed, it is believed that they are linked to Aglaé. Some folklore hints that they are one in the same, since Diablerons tend to haunt those who Aglaé have cursed. In an early version, a cursed man claimed that he witnessed the demon transform before his very eyes into the same beauty who had cursed him. Whether the Diableron was transforming into the witch or the witch into the Diableron, it was never clear; for both are known to take on the image of whatever will be most damaging to their victims. It is assumed they live as both, using each form to its advantage in order to keep their cursed cursed. One theory is that Aglaé takes the form of Diableron when she senses a battle may ensue with her prey. Diablerons excrete a toxin from the tip of their tails that when injected into the bloodstream, overtakes the mind. For those who live through the injuries sustained, the poison has been known to drug the blood for nearly a day, leaving its prey unconscious before its eventual death.
Whether or not they are one in the same, one fact remains certain: Aglaé and Diableron’s behaviors are paralleled. It is proven that for those who cross paths with either, dark futures await. (For more details on the poison of Diablerons, see page 693.)
Elizabeth didn't bother to study the illustration again when she finished, since the chill at the base of her spine told her she would probably see the demon in person someday.
***
Elizabeth ran on fumes as she filled Regina’s order, vanilla swirling into her latte with a smooth, circular—almost hypnotizing—pattern. She hadn’t been able to sleep after the beast left, every emotion she’d ever felt blooming to the surface like the coffee grounds in her French press. Her morning walk with Henry had been particularly silent.
“What’s bothering you, honey?” Regina’s voice almost made Elizabeth cringe, since every sound from the normal world hit her too harshly. Her head hurt.
She smiled anyway. “Nothing, Regina, I’m fine.”
“Mmm hmm.” One brow lifted, the other low.
“I’m tired.” If Eustace was here, he would have snorted, but he hadn’t shown up. Maybe someday he would view her as a normal human being again.
“You need some tension released?” Brian teased, eyeing her from over the rim of his mug. The past few weeks she’d hardly noticed him at all, since he did well at staying out of her business, and even her shop. But now, with him acting as though three weeks’ time could erase his drunken attack from existence, a hint of those vengeful and loathing thoughts snuck back inside her.
“I may have some tension to release, Mr. Dane.” It came from Henry, the first thing he’d said all morning, and as he said it, he read his paper casually. He wore his reading glasses, which told Elizabeth he genuinely read it this time. He looked up from the paper, staring at Brian over his glasses, and that was all it took for Brian’s eyes to fall to his coffee.
“Anyone seen Eustace this morning?” Old Ray asked, his white brows pulling together and causing a handful of wrinkles to appear on his tan forehead.
“He wouldn’t come out when I stopped by this morning,” Taggart said, folding his arms on the table. “He seemed spooked about something.”
“Eustace doesn’t spook easy,” Regina said.
“That’s the problem.”
An old woman darted through the door, a gleam of sweat on her brow. Elizabeth had never seen her, but for some reason knew who she was. Perhaps it was the embroidered cat on her sweatshirt, or the way she seemed to cower from being in a public place, but whatever it was, this woman with cropped gray hair and a spine the shape of a candy cane was definitely Gina Gray—the same who’d reported her cats missing a few weeks before. She neared the counter, and tears hung in her eyes, filling the many creases of her crow’s-feet. “Someone help,” she croaked, frantic.
Taggart stood. “What is it, Gina?”
“My—my cats.”
“Your cats? They went missing last month.”
Hunched over, she broke into more tears. Regina rubbed her shoulder while glaring at Taggart. “It was the monster,” Gina sobbed.
“You’ll have to calm down and explain, Gina.”
“They’re all skinned.”
Gasps went up from everywhere and Henry straightened in the corner. Elizabeth had, too. “Skinned?” Taggart asked with caution. He wiped his brow as though he had suddenly began to sweat.
“I—I went out to my back porch this morning to look for them, like I always do…because sometimes they come back. And…” She wept again, and there was something utterly heartbreaking about an elderly woman, on her last leg, sobbing in such a childlike way.
Taggart licked his lips, and one hand rested at his lanky side. His forehead glistened. “Gina—”
“They were just hanging there! All three of them, hanging upside-down by their tails. They were shredded, Sheriff! Bellies hanging out! And their fur…it was gone.” Elizabeth’s stomach rose, and by the way Regina brought a hand to her mouth, she would bet everyone’s had. “My babies,” she cried, over and over again.
“All right, Gina,” Taggart said softly, trying to keep his cool. But his voice trembled on the last note. “It’s all right. I’m not sure—”
With an abrupt sniff, Gina raised her head and met Elizabeth’s eyes, startling her. She trembled, but the physical power of her glare forced Elizabeth back. “You,” she accused in a low breath. “It was ever since you came into town.”
Everyone looked to Elizabeth. “M—Ms. Gray, I…don’t—”
“You, with your reckless behavior and blasphemous words.” Elizabeth had never met this woman, but she shouldn’t have been surprised, since word traveled fast in small towns. Gina looked at Taggart. “It’s her, and the monster.”
“Now, Gina,” Taggart said. “I don’t doubt this was the work of the monster, but Beth ain’t got nothing to do with that thing.”
“She defends it.” She gave no time for responses as she went on, “Sheriff, you kill it. It’s time we take care of that thing, once and for all. You hunt it down for what it did to my babies.”
Taggart sighed.
“How long before it starts doing this to us?” Her eyes traveled around the room, meeting everyone else’s. At the center of brown irises, surrounded by glazed, bloodshot whites, her pupils penetrated as though each of her eyes were independent intelligences, had their own souls. No one could speak. “Think about it. We haven’t had any problems until now. Something’s angered it, and how long before it starts taking out its evil anger on one of us?” Her eyes fell back on Taggart’s. “Something has to be done, Sheriff.”
It seemed everyone was absorbing this possibility, arriving at the same realization Gina had. Though the look in Taggart’s eyes said he’d already realized it. Elizabeth felt it rising in her stomach, then in her chest. Before she knew it, the words spewed out. “No.” Every head turned. “It wasn’t him.”
Gina gasped, as though she’d just seen for the first time that Elizabeth was the devil himself. “See. It’s her, it’s her love of this…thing.”
Elizabeth ground her teeth, tossing her hand towel on the counter as she took another step. “He is not a thing. He has a soul like the rest of us—maybe even more than some of us.”
Gina’s eyes became rounder than any Elizabeth had seen, even wider than Brian’s on that awful morning.
Taggart’s mustache twitched like it did when he began losing patience. Now sweat dotted his temples, a single droplet rolling down with gravity. The matter of the beast had been eating at him for some time, in the opposite way it ate at Elizabeth. But now he seemed to be unraveling, on the verge of losing it. With a hand still resting on his hip, he glared at Elizabeth. “Be. Careful.”
Discomfort rested upon the room, and though her eyes shot to every set watching her, she skipped over Henry’s. “I won’t be careful. Call me evil, call me whatever you like, but I won’t stand by and let you talk about him like that. Not here, not in my place. Not anymore.”
“You…” Brian began. He stood and backed up. “You’re really defending it? After all this time, I thought it was just some act. But you…you really think it’s…”
“He,” she corrected.
“Dammit, Beth,” Taggart said, saliva spraying. “I’ve had enough. It’s one thing to be brave, maybe even to question its motives, but to defend it after all this—after what it’s done to Gina’s cats…You’re walking a thin line.”
“He didn’t do it.”
“And how do you know?”
“I just know. He wouldn’t.”
“Then what did? We got only one evil demon wandering the forest. And I can’t stand by and let it tear this town apart!”
“There’s something else out there.”
No one spoke, and without a thought her eyes shot to Henry’s for the first time. They were narrow, nearly twitching. She looked back to Taggart. “I’ve felt it. It’s something dark, something not the beast. I can’t explain it, but there’s something else…”
“She’s just covering for it,” Gina said. Elizabeth may as well have been a witch on trial.
“Beth,” Taggart said. “This is gonna stop, you understand?”
“What’s going to stop, Sheriff?”
“You! You’re scaring us. And with the way Eustace was this morning…something’s not right. I won’t have you acting like a crazy person anymore!”
“I’m crazy? Just because I’m the only one who can see him for who he is? Because you’re all too blind to?”
“Ms. Ashton!” Henry stood so quickly his chair knocked to the tile. That same discomfort saturated the silence, only tripled in intensity now. Her eyes challenged his, and his face darkened. “Outside. I need a word.”
“If you don’t like the way I’m talking, Mr. Clayton, you’re free to leave.” She folded her arms and looked to the others. “That goes for everyone.”
With that, all who were sitting stood, and every single body except hers and Henry’s filed out the door, one after the other and all silently. Taggart shook his head and Regina was the last through. The fact that she went at all made Elizabeth’s arms hang, as well as her heart. “I’m sorry, Beth,” she said before leaving.
It was just her and Henry now, his brow fierce and caramel eyes fiery. “Are you satisfied now? You’ve pushed everyone away.”
She stepped toward him, her chest so afire she could hardly speak. “All I’ve done is stood up for what’s right in this town. I’ve been true to myself, Mr. Clayton, true to him. That’s more than I can say for you.”
He recoiled.
“You want to hide?” she added. “Fine. But I won’t.”
“What am I hiding from?”
She swallowed. He couldn’t know she knew; things were bad enough as they were. “I won’t sit back anymore,” she said instead, sidestepping his question. “Not when an innocent soul is being treated—”
“He’s being treated the way he deserves! Can’t you just let it be? You’ve done nothing but turn this town upside-down, and now people are getting hurt.”
“No one is getting hurt.”
“You are, Ms. Ashton.”
She blinked, and for the briefest instant, that warmth showed through his eyes. And she understood. She understood why he was so angry, and why he wanted her to stay out of things. But she couldn’t, and no matter how altruistic his reason was, it infuriated her. “But what about him? He may not matter to anyone else, not even to himself, but he matters to me.”
He exhaled through his nose, slow and painful-sounding, since his jaw was clamped. “Ms. Ashton, you’re going to destroy your new business. I suggest you rethink the road you’re headed down.” He slammed himself into the door and was through it before she could argue.
***
Henry pushed through Jean’s door with a force that left it slamming against the window. It may have been morning, but he sweated already. As he crossed the street to Arne, who had a look of question in his eyes, Henry removed his tie with two quick movements. When Arne opened his door, he threw it in the car, along with his suit jacket, and then unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt; the collar suffocating.
“Rough morning?” Arne asked cautiously.
Henry paced back and forth on the sidewalk, the door to the car open, waiting. His heart beat in all his limbs, quick and heavy. “She’s impossible. She’s going to be her own downfall.” He stopped, meeting Arne’s eyes. “I’m only trying to help her, Arne. How can she not see that?”
“Henry,” he said, too softly, “perhaps it’s you who needs to see.”
He didn’t want to stick around to hear it; instead he marched back into her shop. “Dammit, Ms. Ashton,” he said, making her turn in surprise. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”
